


Don't Need Anything Else

by celtic7irish



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: Tony's got a concussion.  Bruce is stuck as caretaker.





	Don't Need Anything Else

**Author's Note:**

> For the Science Bros Week 2017 Prompt: Light

Tony grimaced, burrowing his head under the covers, ducking away from the bright light coming in the windows.  “J’vis, lights twenty percent,” he mumbled, his eyes still clamped shut.  Nothing happened, and that’s what brought him awake – Jarvis never, ever failed to respond, not unless he’d been compromised.

 

He sat up quickly.  “Jarvis?!” he called out in alarm, on the verge of panicking.  His breath quickened, and he struggled to untangle himself from the covers that seemed to be deliberately trying to pin him in place.  With a hard shove, he was out…and face first on the floor.  “Ow,” he muttered, rolling himself over onto his back.  When no attack was immediately forthcoming, Tony froze, listening, but it was quiet all around him.  In fact, it was way too quiet.

 

His heart still hammering, Tony cautiously sat up, looking around.  He realized that he wasn’t even in the Tower, and he groaned.  “Fantastic, I’ve…what? Been kidnapped by the Villain of the Week and taken to his quaint little cottage in the middle of fucking nowhere?” he growled.  “This had better not be Latveria.”  He paused.  “Or Wakanda.”  Honestly, he wasn’t sure which would be worse at this time.  At least with Victor Von Doom, he knew where he stood.  King T’challa was still an unknown, mostly.

 

There was the sound of a door opening, a short pause, and then the sound of someone moving across a wooden floor barefooted.  Tony waited; he knew that tread, cautious but not silent.  A moment later, Bruce Banner stuck his head through the door.  He glanced at the bed, frowned, then craned his head around.  “Tony?” he asked, looking over towards another door, which Tony presumed was probably the bathroom.

 

“Here,” he muttered, carefully climbing to his feet and trying not to wince when his knees protested from their rather sudden impact with the hard floor a few minutes previously.  “Though I have to admit, I have no idea where here is,” he added.

 

Bruce grimaced, but walked into the room, giving Tony a quick visual once-over.  Tony stayed still, knowing it was better to just let Bruce look him over so they could get onto the more important things.  Like figuring out where they were, and why they were here.  His eyes narrowed in thought before he shook his head, nearly falling over when the motion made his head spin. 

 

Bruce caught him, and Tony let his weight sag against the other man with a quiet, “Oh.”  He paused, trying to think. “Concussion?” he guessed.

 

His friend gave him a wry smile.  “Yeah, though you’re lucky that’s all you got.  I was afraid you had a cracked skull or bleeding in the brain when I first saw you.  Then I kind of freaked out, so the Other Guy freaked out, and here we are,” he added, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Tony’s waist, holding him up.

 

Tony looked down at himself.  “I guess that’d be why I’m only half-dressed in my undersuit,” he joked weakly.  Now that the panic was receding with Bruce’s presence and the knowledge that he wasn’t alone or kidnapped or dead (and somebody had better tell him if he was dead, because that shit was just not cool), other things were taking precedence.  Like the fact that his head was killing him, and he was nauseous, his stomach roiling with every staggering step.

 

“Bruce,” was all the warning he managed to get out before he was back on his knees, vomiting onto the floor.  He supposed he should be grateful they were hardwood floors rather than carpeted, but the smell set off another volley of retching.  The light from the bedroom windows – full, wall-length windows, fuck – was stabbing directly into his brain, and he shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and block it out, pulling away from where he was pretty sure he’d just lost about a week’s worth of food.

 

“Stay still for a moment, Tony,” Bruce murmured.  Tony made a vague noise of irritation – where did the other man think he was going, when even the thought of standing up was enough to make his head spin and his stomach heave?  The quiet sound of Bruce moving across the room, then a rustling, and then, finally, blessed darkness.  Tony relaxed in increments, accepting Bruce’s help when the other man crouched next to him, helping him to his feet and pulling Tony’s arm over his shoulders.  “Let’s get you into the living room, hm?” he said quietly.  “I’ve already closed all the curtains, and there’s a lovely couch.”

 

Tony mumbled some sort of agreement, then followed Bruce blindly, his feet stumbling as they moved into the other room.  He sank gratefully to the couch when Bruce nudged him in the right direction, throwing one arm dramatically across his closed eyes. “This sucks,” he said emphatically.

 

Bruce chuckled.  “Yes, I can imagine.  I’ll be back in a moment,” he said.  Tony wanted to protest, but instead he managed a vague grunt and settled deeper into the couch, his limbs going lax against the thick cushions.

 

He could hear Bruce moving around in the kitchen, along with the sound of bags rustling, and realized that they must be somewhere near a town, if the other man was getting groceries.  How utterly domestic, he thought apropos to nothing, giggling at the ceiling above him.

 

Bruce came back out a moment later, holding a mug in each hand, and Tony grasped greedily for it, pouting when Bruce set it down on a table near the couch.  “You need to sit up, Tony,” the other man told him.

 

“Don’t wanna,” the engineer groused, but he allowed Bruce to help him into a more or less upright position, feeling himself list a bit to the left.  Bruce tossed an afghan over Tony’s lap before holding the warm mug out to him, waiting to be sure he had a firm grasp on it before letting go so Tony could drink on his own.  Tony made a taste when the bitter flavor hit his tongue.  “Green tea? Really?” he scowled over at the other man, but the effort made his head twinge, so he closed his eyes, his hands wrapped tightly around the mug as he took another sip.

 

“You have a concussion, Tony,” Bruce pointed out needlessly.  “I’m not giving you that sludge you call coffee.”  Tony didn’t whine at that. He didn’t.

 

“What happened?” he asked at last, as the warmth from the tea coated his insides.

 

There was a pause.  “You don’t remember anything?” Bruce asked at last, sounding worried.

 

Tony squinted. “Uh…let’s see.  Woke up, Pepper called to yell at me for missing that board meeting yesterday, Steve yelled at me for that itty bitty fire in the lab, then Fury yelled at Barton and me for the paintball, and then,” he paused for a moment.  “Oh, yeah, Twinkle Toes,” he said gleefully.

 

Bruce closed his eyes.  “Twinkle Toes,” he repeated faintly.  Tony grinned, completely unapologetic.

 

“Yes, well, Luminoso slammed you through about six buildings,” Bruce informed him.  “You hit the pavement about a hundred yards from the van I was using to track the guy’s heat signature.  I don’t remember much after that,” he admitted.

 

Tony grinned tiredly.  “Probably explains why I feel like one massive bruise,” he muttered.  “It’s a wonder I didn’t break anything.”

 

“A real Christmas miracle,” Bruce agreed drolly, surprising a bark of laughter from Tony, which nearly sent him toppling to the floor. 

 

Once he caught his breath again, he asked, “So what’s with the food? I mean, how long could it possibly take the guys to swing by and pick us up?”  He paused.  “We did win, didn’t we?” he asked.  He hadn’t even considered that maybe the battle wasn’t over yet.

 

Bruce nodded, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with his shirttail.  “We won,” he said.  “But the Other Guy did a bit of damage on the way out.”  He grimaced. “So we – well, I,” he amended, “have been told to lay low and stay put for a while.”  He was blushing, so Tony figured he must be referring to buildings rather than people.  Maybe Hulk crushed a couple SHIELD vehicles on the way out; that would definitely be enough to piss Fury off.

 

“So I’m here because Hulk was worried about me, and you’re here because Fury’s got his knickers in a twist,” Tony mused. 

 

Bruce huffed a quiet laugh.  “Pretty much,” he agreed.

 

Tony tipped his head and held out his hands in invitation.  “Well, in that case, let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we?”

 

Bruce shook his head.  “Tony, you have a concussion,” he reminded him softly.  But he accepted Tony’s offer, moving to sit next to him on the couch and letting the engineer lay his head on his shoulder.

 

“Warm,” Tony mumbled tiredly, turning his face into the dip between Bruce’s throat and shoulder.  Bruce’s arms wrapped around him, and the two men settled in to wait out SHIELD’s ire.

 

Tony grinned dopily, content to remain here for as long as it took.

 

After all, he had Bruce.  What more did he need?


End file.
